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Renedwen
She had spent the last few days deep in despair, thinking only of what she had lost. Finding a quiet nook she had withdrawn into it with the child, only accepting food so that she might keep herself alive for the sake of the boy; nothing brought comfort to her now, only the sight of his face. He was beginning to crawl now and she struggled to keep him close to her. The nights were the worst, and she had to sleep curled about him in case he woke and crept away. She could only be thankful that he was so quiet and placid that he was as happy sleeping close to her as he was exploring the world about him.
This world was now changed, and instead of the warm house with its tapestries, rich furniture and thick furs, the child had nothing more to explore than a dark and noisy hall, crammed with those who remained from the great city. Instead of a safe and welcoming home he was now in a cold old hall, and rather than his cradle in the corner of the grand chamber his mother and father has shared, he now slept on the floor in a corner, with only his mother for comfort.
Renedwen not only protected the child through the ordeal, but she also kept hidden from the view the sword her husband had made her take when he died. Many of the people had come here with nothing, and although food and warmth were the primary concerns and most sought after commodities, she could sense the level of fear and knew that such a weapon would catch the eye. She was terrified of anyone seizing it while she slept; in the mass of people it would never be found again, it could soon be hidden from her and its theft easily denied. In the day she had kept it hidden beneath her cloak, but while she slept, she made sure the sword was tucked beneath her. It made her nights even more uncomfortable as she felt the constant pain of the hilt digging into her ribs, but it was preferable to not sleeping through worry that it might be taken.
When the call came for everybody to move on, Renedwen was almost glad, as the last few days had been a constant worry to her. She had retreated into her despair, into the familiar comfort of misery she knew all too well, and though uneasy about what was ahead, she was glad to be moving on. She knew she would be forced into a situation where she had no time to brood; this stasis could only deepen into darkness if she remained here much longer. As she waited to move off, the talk around her was negative. People were angry about the King’s decision and spoke in hushed tones of treachery. She listened half-heartedly, as she had expected as much of their leader; of course the King would want to save himself, who were they to assume otherwise? In answer to the talk of a younger woman who sat on the horse next to her own, Renedwen snappily answered “What did you expect? For the King to defend us with his own hands?”
The child was strapped firmly to her, and she sat upright on her borrowed horse, her cold blue eyes gazing into the distance. Some who looked upon her thought she was frozen right through to the heart; she appeared to them to be noble and almost arrogant, to be trying to hold herself apart from the common crowd. But Renedwen was thinking of that strange place where her husband and family now walked in peace. She strained to see it with her eyes, trying to perceive something which was always there but not quite visible, as though it lay just out of sight along the path, the place to which she was now headed.
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